


Without Me

by freakofgeeks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Arrogance, Eating Disorders, F/M, House Being House, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pre-Season/Series 04, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakofgeeks/pseuds/freakofgeeks
Summary: Shame is life's greatest tool. Shame makes us hide. Dysfunction masquerades as success, secrets masquerade as truths, and no one is the wiser- until you open your mouth. Shame is life's greatest tool. Shame chiseled Dr. Robert Chase into who he is today, and no one is the wiser- until he opens his mouth.





	Without Me

**Author's Note:**

> Couple notes-
> 
> *I've never written for this fandom before. Constructive criticism is welcome.  
> *Will do my best to keep characters, well, in character.  
> *I'm not sure where this is going quite yet, apologies if story or direction seems unclear early on.  
> *Takes place pre-season 4  
> *No holds barred, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> Thank you.

Shame is not a simple emotion, despite what many may believe. Shame is an all-encompassing state of mind with many complex attributes. Shame breeds fear and paranoia. Shame is born out of survival in the worst of times. Do what needs to be done to cope, done to survive. Shame is dirty and hidden, petrified to see the light of day. Shame is hidden by confidence.

Of course shame and confidence can live side by side. They are symbiotic. Confidence keeps shame at bay, while confidence feeds on shame with the need to be ever-present at the front, masquerading. All in all, it’s a functional system. At minimum, that’s what Dr. Robert Chase tells himself. Functional is all that’s needed to get through life.

A confident man, from a good family (with good genes), with a good education. A winning combination. A perfect man.

A good family. To the outside. A mentally unstable alcoholic mother and a stoic father. His sister took after his mother, so he was destined to become his father. Stoic. Perfect. Successful. A good education made him successful. Years of youth spent as a caregiver made him stoic. Why not be perfect? Perfect people have it all together. Perfect people.

Perfect people don’t keep a set of scalpels at home. Perfect people don’t operate on themselves. Perfect people don’t rip up their skin to see if the books were right and there really is a skeleton inside. Perfect people don’t carry on like volatile teenagers well into their adult years. Perfect doctors don’t need help from anyone else. Perfect people have healthy coping mechanisms, like running up bar tabs or doing yoga. Perfect people don’t rely on habits historically attributed to the plight of emotionally unwell teenage girls.

Perfect people from good families don’t have casual sex with multiple women and multiple men. Perfect people from good families settle down, buy a house, and have 2.5 kids. Perfect people from good families create perfect people with good families.

Dr. Robert Chase is one of the “perfect people.” He has to be. Or, he has to look like one. Dr. Robert Chase may never feel like one of the “perfect people,” he may never be one of them, but goddamn, he will fool the world. He will be perfect.

Those things are for other people, he thinks. Those doubts and insecurities and guilt ridden impurities. Those are for other people. Not for me, he says.

Perfect people don’t sleep with their bosses.

Well. In reality, there was no sleeping. There was no romance, no promissory flirtations of a promotion or a raise. No benefits. There was a job to be done, a reason to be numb.

Chase didn’t know how it happened. With House, of all people. He had been the last one in the diagnostics office. They had just finished a case, and after being in the same room with each other for a day and a half straight, Cameron and Foreman had gone home, ready to leave as soon as House would let them.

This left Chase with writing up the summary of the case. House would never do it. It would sit in his backlog for months and months. Chase was fed up with adding to it. It didn’t take him long to write up a clear, concise summary of what had been done and the result of treatment. All it needed was House’s signature before being bounced to Cuddy. No longer his problem at that point.

“Here, I finished the case summary. All it needs is for you to not sign it.” Chase declared, tossing the manila folder in the general direction of House’s desk as he walked through the glass-paneled door.

What he hadn’t expected to see was House with no pants. He was so tired he hadn’t paid any mind to the blinds being drawn on the other side of the glass. Chase rolled his eyes and turned back on his heel for the door before a gravel voice drew him back.

“Not what you think. Just file it in my inbox.” House replied, sliding the trashcan in Chase’s direction with his foot. It was then Chase noticed a syringe in House’s hand. Morphine. One day bogus prescriptions and forged case notes were going to catch up to him, Chase thought. As much as House begged Cuddy for morphine, he always seemed to get it when he really wanted it. Chase subscribed to a running theory among the diagnostic team that he would slip away with an extra dose as they were discharging a patient. No one spoke this aloud.

“Right. I’ll leave you to it.” Chase wasn’t much of a voyeur, no sense in watching House engage in the one act that brought him joy.

“What, don’t want to stay and watch? Wow, those nurses must have been wrong about those vicious rumors about you.” House finished his injection and dropped the syringe into his desk. Chase only hoped that there was a sharps disposal bucket in it.

Chase’s hand was on the door. He had almost escaped the wrath. Today was not the day for that accomplishment, it seemed. He sighed in aggravation, “What rumors?” He asked. Chase had learned long ago it was better to engage house and get it over with, or he would only up the ante on annoyance.

“That you’re a bloody poofter!” House mocked in an over-exaggerated, poorly done Australian accent

Chase went rigid. He hadn’t heard that word since he was fourteen. He hadn’t heard it directed at him in almost as long. It was just a rumor then, too. He could have gotten kicked out of boarding school for it then, and he could very well lose his job for it now.

“Right, well, thank you for the vocabulary update. I guess you’ve exhausted all of the American insults.” Chase spat back, hostility leaking into his words, bile rising in the back of his throat.

House nearly cut him off, “Hey, no need to be defensive. You’re ashamed, aren’t you? Shame is a waste of time. I have no shame, and look how far I’ve made it.” Chase nearly replied once more- why wasn’t he just leaving, again?- with something about ‘everyone knows you’re shameless’ but before the words could form, House had pulled down his boxers to meet his jeans on the floor. House was usually impulsive when making a point.

Chase was speechless. In awe, almost. Maybe it was the way he viewed house- bitter, angry, arrogant. Maybe it was the anti-social nature that his senior had. Regardless, Chase had not been expecting what he saw. If he didn’t think it would feed House’s already massive ego, he might make a remark of awe or impressiveness. He thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. For now.

For less than they had lingered on House's manhood, his eyes glanced but momentarily over the crater in his thigh. Muscle death left an ugly mark. Chase knew this- he'd read the books and journals, of course, and god knew House never stopped popping pills and complaining. But seeing the object of scorn, so to speak, was a different experience. 

A wicked grin spread across House’s stubble-ridden face. He had hooked Chase and he knew it. “Well, are you going to stand there and gape, or get over here and prove that I’m right?”

“I-I-I… I didn’t know that you were…” Chase trailed off, quickly closing the door behind him. The hall was dark, but one never knew who would wander down this end of the wing. He locked it for good measure.

“I’m not.” House snapped, “A blowjob is a blowjob, a mouth is a mouth. Doesn’t take a doctor to figure that out. God, how much help do you need? Get over here. Now.”

Warmth was rising in Chase’s body, from where he didn’t know. Something about the trans-formative nature of House’s demanding words. He wasn’t demanding Chase to run a test or do a biopsy. He was demanding him to go suck his cock. The nature of the words changed when the nature of the job changed with him.

Wordlessly, and almost thoughtlessly, Chase made his way over and down, fixing himself on his knees between House’s legs. Unsure of where to put his hands, he let his fingertips dig into the filthy office carpet. The last thing he needed to was to squeeze House's leg in the wrong place and get his teeth knocked out. 

It had been a long time, but it was like riding a bike. A little help and you remember what to do. He dove down over House’s throbbing cock, blond locks falling to the sides of his face. House leaned back in his chair and groaned.

If this is what makes him shut up, I should have stayed late a long time ago, Chase thought.

They didn’t speak again afterwards. House zipped up, Chase dusted himself off and made a quick departure, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Now he was just one of House’s whores, no better or different that the hookers he bragged about. He had been reduced from a qualified doctor and talented diagnostician, to a whore. He was not perfect. He was not one of the “perfect people.”

Now House knew that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued... soon.


End file.
